


pomegranate.

by releasetheglitch



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hades/Persephone AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 15:58:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7368073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/releasetheglitch/pseuds/releasetheglitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are mine,” said Hades, icy eyes gleaming predatorily in the dim glow of the candles. “No soul may leave the Underworld after they’ve passed through. You will stay in my kingdom until time unravels and the Universe disintegrates, until the New Gods take our place and the world begins anew.”</p><p>“Thank you for that speech,” said Q, dryly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pomegranate.

**Author's Note:**

> A 00Q Hades/Persephone AU, written for the 007 Fest's Porn Post Saturdays! The original prompt called for a pissed-off Q but he turned out more snarky and demanding :P Nevertheless I hope it will suffice!

Q tumbled through the ceiling and fell to the ground with a loud _thump._

He laid on his back for some brief moments, not feeling the slightest bit winded despite his long fall. Everything smelt of lilies and ash, so at odds with the fresh spring air that had filled his lungs only seconds before.

In his hand rested the narcissus flower he had picked, just before the ground and opened up and swallowed him whole.

The chambers of the Lord of the Dead were just as austere as Q had expected them to be. All gleaming obsidian walls and marble pillars. The walls were decorated with images of gruesome deaths in inks of gold. Q moved closer to examine them. In one, a boy’s flesh twisted and wretched as it was consumed by the fire. In another, a woman torn apart from limb to limb by a murder of crows. There was not a sound, save for his own breathing.

A rustling behind him caught his attention. The Lord of the Underworld stood behind him. His hair the colour of moonlight, his eyes flickering between the black of the void and a rather fetching shade of blue. He was dressed simply, black suit and tie and a long cape that billowed behind him. Absurdly, Q thought that he had rather large ears.

“You are mine,” said Hades, icy eyes gleaming predatorily in the dim glow of the candles. “No soul may leave the Underworld after they’ve passed through. You will stay in my kingdom until time unravels and the Universe disintegrates, until the New Gods take our place and the world begins anew.”

“Thank you for that speech,” said Q, dryly. “Now, more importantly, will you ensure that my rooms are far from Cerberus? I have much more inventing to do, and I can’t work with the sounds of souls being torn apart right outside my window.”

Hades stared. “You are not afraid?”

“Please,” Q rolled his eyes and held the narcissus flower out, offering it to Hades. “Do you think I’m a complete twit? I know the smell of a flower, and I know the smell of death. It was obvious that this came from the Underworld. That you planted it there.”

Hades pocketed the flower, his eyes never once leaving Q’s face. “Do you mean to say…”

“Yes, you idiot. I chose to come here. Just as you chose to bring me here.” Q took a step closer to Hades, who stepped back, looking cornered. “Why did you do it?” Q whispered.

He half-expected the God to smite him for insolence, but Hades merely swallowed, eyes darting about as if pleading for help.

“I saw you in the cemetery, scribbling wildly in your notes,” Hades confessed at last, voice echoing around the room. “Your eyes were bright and your hair a mess. I found you mesmerising, your brilliance infuriating. I thought that if I could have you, even the everlasting presence of death in these lands would not kill this stirring in my blood.”

“You fancy me,” cried Q, delighted.

“If I could bring myself to banish you to the Halls of the Damned, I would in a heartbeat,” replied Hades. Then he stepped forward, and kissed Q.

Q moaned, melting into the arms of the God. For someone who presided over death, Hades’ mouth was surprisingly warm, his embrace strong and reassuring. If it wasn’t for the undercurrent of nectar and ambrosia and lilies on his breath, Q could almost believe that he was kissing a mortal man.

Hades’ cape enveloped them, and when he next surfaced for air, they were standing in a bedroom. Q got a fleeting glance of scarlet tapestries and bay windows before being tumbled into the sheets.

“You _are_ forward,” said Q, running his hands fondly through Hades’ hair.

Hades snorted. “You should see my brothers.”

“Let’s save family introductions for later,” Q panted. His hands went to Hades’ belt—decorated with small imprints of calaveras. The decorating in this world really was rather predictable. He sought to tell Hades this, but then his chest was bared and wicked teeth grazed over his nipples and all thoughts fluttered out of Q’s mind.

Determined not to be a passive participant in the coming proceedings, Q fumbled the belt open and drew his trousers down to his knees. They both groaned as Hades’ erection sprang loose, thick and hard in Q’s palm and utterly intoxicating. Q looked down at the crisp curls around his cock, the head leaking trails of precum across his stomach, and sighed dreamily.

“Are you ready for this?” Hades asked, pumping into Q’s hand.

“Oils?”

Hades nodded, waved his hands in a complicated gesture through the air and a little glass vial fell next to Q’s head. He uncorked the bottle and inhaled deeply, smelling musk and pomegranate, and nodded, satisfied.

Q offered the bottle up. “Would you like to do the honours?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Q tilted his head back, arms twining around Hades’ neck as an oiled finger circle his entrance. It pushed in at the same moment that Hades’ mouth captured and Q moaned, deepening the kiss with a raw desperation that only intensified when the finger began moving in him. Neither men had fully undressed, and the feeling of Hades’ trousers brushing against his own made his skin tingle.

A second finger was added, Q’s hole stretching around the intrusion. He bore down just to feel that addictive pleasure and heard Hades sigh. “You are intoxicating,” the God said, sounding astonished.

“I’m delightful,” Q replied. “Keep moving.”

“And demanding,” said Hades, but complied. Q rewarded him with a series of lovebites across his neck, feeling gratified when the God shivered and cursed.

All too soon, Q was prepared and ready to spill. He signalled this through a series of incomprehensible murmurs that Hades, through some godlike omniscience, seemed to understand. Then again, perhaps he was just as desperate as Q was.

The head of his cock pressed up against Q’s entrance and seemed to rest there for an eternity. Q’s patience snapped.

“Move, damn you,” cried Q, jerking down and seating himself fully.

Hades cursed, then a hand found its way into Q’s hair and tugged as lips met his again. All inhibition gone, Q kissed him, sloppy and needy as he pumped his hips wildly.

“Such a stroppity human,” said Hades, his breaths escaping in broken pants. The way he fucked was almost primal, power simmering right beneath the surface of his skin and it was so heady, the way this God could turn him into ash if he so chose. But instead, his grasp on Q’s hips were possessive and his voice awed.

Q felt powerful. Worshipped by this God as if he was one of his own. Was this how deities came to be? Were the offerings of their followers half as divine as the press of Hades’ skin against his own?

He thought he could topple Olympus if he had this God every day for the rest of his life.

“Mine, mine, mine,” Q gasped, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he came, stars bursting behind his eyelids. A moment later, Hades groaned as well, and heat flooded Q’s insides as the God fell onto Q’s torso, sweaty and disheveled and so, so beautiful. His last sensation before falling asleep was that of Hades, drawing his cape over the two of them and enveloping him in warmth.

When he awoke, he was alone. The perpetual blackness of the sky gave no indication as to the time—if time was even a concept in the world of the dead. Q stretched, luxuriating in the soreness of his body, the sweet bruise of his collarbone and hips.

On the nightstand was a small saucer with six perfect, vibrant, pomegranate seeds. The colour was striking in the otherwise monochrome décor of the room, even more so on the paleness of his flesh. There was no accompanying note, but he knew what it meant.

Q smiled and bit into the seeds, letting bloody juice run down his chin.


End file.
